We were watching an
earnest-looking woman on public television explain the warning signs of
cyber addiction. These include increased time spent online, less time
spent with family and loved ones, secrecy, denial, disorientation,
financial problems, difficulty disengaging from the computer ...
increased gas with oily discharge ...

(OK. Some parts of this
addiction definitely sound like more fun than *other* parts.)

"We used
to be hooked on AOL, I think," I replied thoughtfully. "Back in the
Boom Room days. But I don't think we qualify anymore."

True, I had spent very
nearly the entire weekend in front of the computer. I've got a
list of
excuses as long as my arm, and they're all legit: I'm sick, I look like
hell, my sinus medicine is making me cranky, I don't feel like going
anywhere, I need to learn the new graphics program, I'll nap later, at
least it's keeping me quiet, blah blah blah.

True, I was maintaining
an Internet connection for most of the weekend ... mainly so I could instantly upload changes to the
website without having to reconnect. Not that I actually wrote
anything, mind you: mostly I just tinkered under the hood. But I kept
the engine running.

True, I had AOL humming
in the background at all times. But I kept the window minimized. And I
was using one of my dorky *stealth* names, known only to God and the
Tots, in case they popped online and wanted to engage in a little
mindless conversation. God was a no-show, but I did get to
chat with
Son #Only at some length ...

True,
I found it extremely difficult to tear myself away from the computer at
the end of the day on Saturday and Sunday, even after spending nine hours
in front of the damn thing. ("I didn't get anything
dooooone," I whined
to David, massaging the blood back into my fingers.) When he
fell
asleep last night, midway through "The David Cassidy Story"
("Hot
Blooded" playing at a Hollywood pool party in 1973?? I don't THINK
so), I tiptoed out here to the dining room and quietly
flipped the
computer back on and fiddled some more with my unfinished Paint Shop
Pro project. It was only when I realized that I'd lost all physical
sensation from the elbows down that I finally shut down the Monster PC
and crept back to bed.

And true, this morning
-- my day off from work -- I am right back in front of the 'puter.

But I still
don't believe that any of this qualifies as Internet addiction.

I think, in my case,
it's more like "PROJECT
Addiction."

Basically, it means
that
once I've started a project -- even if it's something dorky, like
turning eighteen different dingbat fonts into .jpg images for the
website ... or something purely organizational,
like cataloging five years' worth of e-mail into
chronological/alphabetical [ludicrously
anal-retentive] folders -- I
don't want to stop until it's finished. In fact, I get
darned-near
FRANTIC if anybody tries to pull me away from something in mid-project.

David: "How about if we
see what they're cooking on 'Iron Chef'?"

Secra:
"I'll be there
in a minute. I just need to rename some of these 'Space Woozies' files."

David:
"How many have
you got left to do?"

Secra:
"Um .. all of
them."

What can I tell you? If
this is an illness -- which it very well could be -- then it's an
illness
I've been afflicted with since childhood. (See: Nine-Year-Old Secra,
sitting in front of the Remington, furiously cranking out her monthly
*Terri's Fun Book* while the other kids are outside riding bikes.)
Ever
since I was a Tot, I've loved having two or three or thirty-seven
different creative projects in the works at once. And the simple fact
of it is that most of my favorite "projects," these days, are
computer-related.
Most of them involve writing, typing, filing, research, graphics ...and
a decent web browser. Even the new piano has ties to the
Internet:
over the weekend I found a site that sells the book of Clementi
sonatinas I've been looking for.

Yep. I'm a Project
Junkie. I feed on the rush that comes with a new idea, and I get
totally high watching it near completion. (I don't even want to tell
you what it feels like when I finally *finish* something: this is a
FAMILY website, forcryingoutloud.) And these days the
computer is often
the conduit that feeds that addiction ... the same way my typewriter
used to be, or my crayons, or my library card.

I know he is
continually exhorting his Message Board buddies to "use your
&#$% browser!,"
whenever they're arguing about something like the history of
Kwanzaa,
or unemployment rates in Europe, or how many Dole pineapple rings will
comfortably fit on the average penis. "It
takes longer to write your post complaining about something that turns
out to be not true than it does to actually find out if Kwanzaa is a
religous holiday or not!" he
admonishes them. "From
ignorance to knowledge in the time it takes to type a sentence!"
It's something he feels very strongly about: this ready access to
limitless information.

I know that he turns to
the computer occasionally when he can't sleep. Once in a very great
while I'll wake up at 3 a.m. and discover that I'm alone in our bed.
I'll tiptoe out to the computer and there he'll be, cruising the Bob
Dylan CD Field Recordings Review Page Of William J. Clinton
website. "My brain is racing," he'll say. I'll kiss the top of his head
and go back to bed and leave him to his solitary surfing, until
whatever is fueling his racing mind finally sputters out.

And I know that he feels
a bond of love and loyalty to his old Boomer friends ... much more so
than I do, sometimes. He laments over dwindling connection and
communication with them. Occasionally he *decloaks* long enough to
check into the chat room, or to field instant messages from a handful
of old acquaintances. It's very important to him. (After all, it was on
AOL -- in the Baby Boomer Chat Room, specifically -- that we discovered
each other.)

But again, I don't
believe that any of this qualifies David as an Internet addict. An
afficionado, yes. An addict? No. I think that if anybody could
recognize (and throw up warning flags about) the signs of addiction, it
would be David.

(Unless that was what he
was doing yesterday, when he asked the question to begin with ... ?)

self-important
blurb #1 will go HERE: so how am
i spending my
precious day off, you ask?

what do you
think?

self-important
blurb #2 -- probably having something to do with the WEATHER:
i don't care what the weather is like today. i'm feeling residually
snotty, and i don't even plan to get DRESSED until just before david
gets home tonight.

special
*howdy* to:
my new best friend sunny [of Sunshyn's
Daydream]
... who, it appears, is living a life spookily parallel to mine. her
boss is attending the same national industry meeting as my boss is,
this week. who knows? maybe they'll sit together on the plane ride
home. [you DID book *your* boss on valujet, didntchoo sunny?]